Operation Zulu: Dos

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Operation Zulu: Dos Page 21

by Gamboa, Allen


  “Anyway…” Vanelli cleared his throat. “Remember when you tie up that bow, always leave some wriggle room.”

  LET ME PUT ON MY FACE

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  Tanya didn’t sleep very well in the guest cottage. For two hours she tossed and turned on the bed, unable to get comfortable. Finally, when she’d had enough, she sat up and threw the queen sized comforter off her and onto the floor of the darkened room. This whole ‘adventure’ is one big, fucking mess, she thought to herself. She had to find Leeland and get the hell out of here. She just knew that creepy asshole, Domingo, would be back and a locked door probably wouldn’t stop him from getting in. Tanya was more worried about Baylie than herself. She’d seen the worst of men and had survived thus far. The younger girl on the other hand hadn't seen the true evil one person could inflict on another.

  Tanya glanced over at the other bed where Baylie had been sleeping and, in the dark, saw that it was empty. The bed looked like it hadn’t even been slept in. That's really odd, Tanya thought to herself; Baylie had fallen asleep under the covers earlier. She called the other girl's name and got no response. Tanya quickly climbed out of the bed, now very concerned for the girl’s safety. She flicked on the light switch and found herself face to face with a blood splattered and dead-eyed Leeland staring back at her. Tanya screamed and stumbled backwards toward the bed. A cold hand reached up from beneath and grabbed her ankle tightly. Tanya tried to break free from the grip of whatever had a hold of her when she was roughly jerked to the floor and pulled under the bed.

  “Tanya, Tanya.” Baylie stood on the side of the bed gently shaking the other woman’s shoulder. “Tanya, wake up.”

  “Oh.” The former stripper sat up in bed and wiped the hair out of her face. “Baylie? You okay?”

  “I was going to ask you that.” The younger girl smiled. “You were screaming in your sleep.”

  “I must have been having a bad dream.” She glanced down at the floor. “Thanks for waking me up.”

  “You woke me up with your screaming.” Baylie laughed. “Good thing though, it’s getting late.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight o’clock,” Baylie said a little sadly, it reminded her of that dim wit, Ricky, always asking her the time. Poor bastard. “Hear that?” She walked over to the big window and peered through the blinds. The muffled sounds of music and laughter could be heard from inside the room. “Party’s in full swing.”

  “I can tell.” Tanya yawned and climbed out of bed. She reached down and ran her hand underneath the length of the bed. There was only about an inch of space below no room for monsters. Satisfied, she walked over to where Baylie stood looking out of the blinds. “Can you see anything?”

  “Not really. Just some lights and a few heads.” She dropped the blind and turned to face Tanya. “I’m kind of hungry.”

  “Me too. Let me change my face and we’ll go have a look. See if we can find Leeland.” Tanya grabbed up her purse and headed over to the big mirror that hung over the washroom sink. She set the purse down on the counter and started to pull out some make up. “We have any clothes?”

  “No, they never brought our luggage up.”

  “Figures. Let me put my face on and then we can go.” She looked in the mirror at her Seahawks jersey and jeans. She usually would dress up for a party, but with all the lecherous cartel men around she felt safer in her street clothes.

  “You think Leeland’s all right?” Baylie walked over to where Tanya stood washing her face.

  “He’s fine, Baylie. Salazar said they were going to have their doctor give him something to calm him down.” Tanya tried to sound convincing, but her dream of a dead Leeland made her think otherwise. “Leeland is probably out there, high as a kite, eating and drinking, and having a great time.”

  “I hope.” Baylie walked back over to the window and peeked outside.

  “If he’s not down there, we’ll ask Salazar or better yet, that Nero guy, if they know where Leeland is.” She walked to her bed and grabbed the .38 from under her pillow. “And if they play dumb, we’ll use our little persuader here.” She held the gun sideways and pointed it at the door. “We’ll go all gangster on their asses and then we’ll get the hell out of here.”

  “Thanks, Tanya. You’re right; he’s probably at the party screwing off.”

  “Food and alcohol, those are two things Leeland never passes up.” Tanya said, although she knew that more than likely something really bad had happened to him.

  HIS NAME WAS RICO…

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  Dressed in his finest Armani suit, Black hummed along with the muzak version of Copacabana as it played on the many speakers placed throughout his Krokodil lab. Satiated from his fun with the late Tommy Leeland, he smoothed the sleeves of his suit coat and traveled the length of the facility in search of Doctor Volkov. Black was feeling quite pleased with himself, and had decided to wear the new million dollar Excalibur Quatuor watch he’d had Remiro deliver earlier that day. The multi-millionaire stopped to admire the beautiful piece of Swiss technology that was strapped to his wrist. Black couldn’t wait to flash it in front of Bob the Butcher and his beloved mommy. That would put the little drug kingpin in his place. He stopped in front of Volkov’s office and straightened his tie. Looking sharp, Black opened the thick wooden door and stepped inside.

  “What the hell?” His jaw dropped as he took in the bizarre scene that greeted him. “Alexi?”

  “I really need to lock that door,” Volkov said offhandedly as he casually pulled up his pants and slid off the table. “Or you could knock.”

  The scientist bent down and, irritated by the intrusion, grabbed his shirt off the floor. Black could see the nude, dead woman—still bound to the table—hungrily snap a toothless mouth in his direction.

  “I can clearly see you are busy working on an antidote,” Black growled as he fought hard to keep from throttling the Russian scientist. “What is this?”

  “Some alone time.” Volkov slurred his words as he struggled to button up his shirt. The woman on the table moaned and squirmed in her straps. The smell of death and antiseptic filled the room; if Black wasn’t so angry and frustrated at the moment, he would have been in a state of high arousal. “Esmeralda needed a little attention.”

  “You disgust me, Alexi. We are in a time crunch and here you are screwing a slab of meat. Get your demented ass back into the main lab and find us an antidote. If you don’t, you can stay here and I’ll find someone else. I’m sure Camacho would have a lot of use for a ghoul like you.”

  “I am not a ghoul,” Volkov drunkenly protested as he rested a hand on the woman’s rotting leg. “She is my wife.”

  “Wife?!” Black said, enraged by the Russian’s insubordination. “You can make another wife later. We… I need you to find us a way to counter this. Don’t you see the money we can make from this?”

  “Money. Bah! I am done with all that.” He turned to face the body on the table. “I have wife now. Find someone else Ian.”

  “No,” Black said calmly as he shoved Volkov hard to the floor. The Russian smashed face first into the cheap tile. “You have a job to do. If you can’t do it, I have no problem leaving you in this fucked up place.” He stepped over the drunken scientist and walked over to one of the surgical trays in the room. He picked up a scalpel off the tray and threateningly pointed it in Volkov’s direction. “Get up and get me some results.”

  “All right, Ian.” He stood up on unsteady legs.

  “And no more distractions.” He jammed the scalpel deep into the woman’s right eye and left it there. The corpse shuddered then stopped moving.

  “No!” Volkov screamed in disbelief and collapsed to the floor. “Esmerelda!”

  “Get back to work, Alexi.” Black walked over to the room’s sink and washed his hands. “You can have a whole zombie harem for fuck sake.” He dried his hands on a paper towel. “Just get me what I want. Understand?”

&nbs
p; “Yes,” Alexi said, sobbing on the floor.

  “Good.” He glanced at his new watch. “You have an hour and a half. Get me something. “

  “Yes,” the Russian repeated as he slowly looked up at Black, hatred burning deep in his eyes. “I will get you something.”

  “Don’t be so mad, Alexi. We will get through this. Now I have a party to attend to.” He pulled at his jacket sleeves. “Stop your crying, Alexi, makes you look weak.”

  GO TIME

  ABOARD A CH-53 SEA STALLION

  “Ten mikes, people! Check your com links and NVGs,” Captain Galvan shouted to the soldiers inside the red lit fuselage of the old Sea Stallion helicopter. “Ten minutes until first LZ.”

  “All right, folks, all personal electronics now.” Kurtz stood up and held out a black canvas bag. “Drop all your goodies in here.”

  “We gonna get ‘em back?” Sergeant Travis asked as he placed his personal cell phone into the bag. "My wife bought that for me.”

  “Funny, she bought me the same one.” Kurtz smirked at the young sergeant. “Come on folks, give ‘em up. Don’t want a bad guy sending your loved ones dick pics, do ya?”

  “Hell, my old lady’s phone is nothing but dick pics,” Vanelli said, dropping his in the bag. “Some strange might just get her going.”

  “You are one freaky dude, Vanelli,” Duley said, shaking his head as he handed up his phone. "Here you go, Top.”

  “And I thought you were the freaky one,” Kurtz said, grabbing up the phone from Duley.

  “A grown man taking pictures of his junk is just unnatural, Top.” Duley grinned. “Now sex pictures, that’s different. Man alone just with his junk? Just freaky.” He smiled.

  “I knew you were freaky, Duley.” Kurtz said as he grabbed electronics form Cross and Doc Kegy.

  “If something happens to me, Top, remember to clean my locker out before they send it to my mom's,” Duley said, suddenly becoming serious.

  “I’ll do it for ya, buddy.” Vanelli eagerly volunteered.

  “No, there's no telling what freaky shit you’d send my mom’s. Top?”

  “Sure, Duley.” Kurtz collected up the rest of the team’s phones. “Ain’t nothing going to happen to you. I think though when you get back to base, you should clean that shit out yourself.” He carried the bag over to where he was sitting. “Start living right, son, and you won’t have to worry about someone else cleaning up your shit.” Kurtz sat back down next to the captain and stowed the bag beneath him.

  “Really, buddy,” Vanelli said, flashing a sardonic grin. “I’ll clean out your stuff.”

  “My com’s not working,” Cross told Hale.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Hale asked.

  “I can still hear Vanelli’s bullshit.”

  “I think that’s a manufacturer's defect.” Hale turned his ball cap backwards and pulled on his night vision gear. “Duct tape might work.”

  “Duct tape always works.” Cross smiled as she shouldered her pack.

  “Five mikes to first LZ.” Galvan glanced down at his watch. “Five mikes, Sergeant Kurtz.”

  Kurtz nodded at the officer then shouted. “Bravo team! Five minutes to drop!”

  “Guess this is our stop,” Morgan said, pounding Hale on the shoulder then standing up. “Bravo team, check your gear!”

  “That was a quick trip.” Redwood yawned as he unfolded his massive frame from the makeshift seat.

  “Not enough beauty sleep?” Doc Kegy asked, checking his rifle.

  “And to think I shared my good luck candy bar with you, Doc,” Redwood said, feigning hurt.

  “Make sure you don’t leave anything on the chopper. Don’t want to stress out the LT more than he already is.” Morgan slipped on his night vision goggles and gave Kubicek thumbs up. The lieutenant just looked down at the floor of the helicopter, unable to meet the sergeant's gaze.

  “Three mikes!” Galvan shouted. “Remember, Morgan, I’ll contact you as soon as we’re at our LZ.”

  “Roger.” Morgan gave him thumbs up as he headed toward the aft ramp of the chopper. “See you at the target.”

  “You got it, Sergeant Morgan. Good luck.”

  “You too, sir.”

  The aft ramp dropped a foot from the ground and Bravo team swiftly exited the rear of the helicopter. The soldiers hunkered down in the tall, lush, grass and watched as the Sea Stallion lifted up into the inky-black sky and headed for the second LZ. Once the aircraft had disappeared, Morgan signaled the team forward.

  “Vanelli, you take point,” the platoon sergeant said quietly into his headset. “Snake, you bring up the rear.”

  “Roger.” Snake dropped to the back of the team. The ten soldiers, all wearing night vision goggles, slowly made their way toward the rear entrance gate of Bob the Butcher's compound. It was still ninety degrees out, and the members of Bravo team were already drenched in sweat.

  “How far is the target?” Duley asked.

  “Two miles,” Tuz said lowly.

  “It’s nighttime, is it ‘sposed to be this dang hot?” Duley asked as he wiped the sweat from his face with his shemagh.

  “You’re in Mexico, Duley, it’s always hot.” Tuz chuckled.

  “Cut the chatter,” Hale growled into his mic. “Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. There’s too much cover around so stay sharp.”

  “Roger.”

  “Roger.”

  WASH YOUR HANDS 2

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  “Ay! My dick is burning, Nero.” Hector groaned from the passenger side of the jeep.

  Nero, against his better judgment, glanced over in the other man’s direction. Instantly regretting it, Nero covered his eyes with his hand as he saw that Hector was wrist deep in his jeans and vigorously itching at whatever nastiness lurked inside. Nero shook his head and turned away to watch the rolling hills and scrub brush that surrounded the outer perimeter of the compound. He knew that he would probably take his next paycheck and leave this God-forsaken place. Every minute he spent there caused him to feel like he was sliding into the darkness he’d left behind in El Abismo. Syphilitic and goat fucking Cartel men surrounded him. Nero knew he had to bail out of there and find something else to do with his life. Something that would make his daughters proud of him.

  “Hector, I’m going to see if we can get some relief.” He picked up the radio. “Maybe you can wash your hand and I can get something to drink.”

  “It's okay, Nero.” Hector withdrew his hand from his pants and smelled it. “Oh, maybe you’re right.”

  “Si, I think you should see a doctor.”

  “As long as my wife doesn’t find out. I have plans for later.” He smiled. “Call us some relief, my crotch is burning.”

  “Nacho,” Nero said into the radio; he knew if he called Domingo directly, the bastard would tell them to stay out. “This is Nero on perimeter. Can we get a break?”

  “Si.” Nacho’s voice crackled across the speaker. “Pull inside. I’ll have a couple of guys waiting.”

  “Gracias, Nacho.” Nero set down the radio and started up the jeep. “Go see the doc and wash your hands.”

  “Si, but not before I eat.” Hector smiled. “I’m so hungry I could eat the dirtiest pussy in Mexico and still have room for more.”

  Nero shook his head in disgust and steered the jeep toward the compound. In his head, the former soldier was compiling a short list of dead men. It was not a good thing, and Nero knew he had to get out there before the list went from an imaginary thing to a very bloody reality.

  SEÑOR BLACK

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  “Mama?” Camacho rested a hand softly on his mother’s back. “This is Señor I-an Black, he’s the American businessman I was telling you about.”

  “Oh, Señor Black.” Gloria Camacho blushed as she extended a ring-covered hand to him. Black smiled with his pearly-white predator teeth and kissed the back of Mama Camacho’s diminutive hand.

  “Such a pleasure to me
et you, Señora Camacho.” Black held her hand firmly in his and looked over at El Jefe and winked. Camacho could see Black’s exposed wrist and the glint of the million dollar watch. His stomach tightened and he took a deep breath. “Robert, you didn't tell me you had such a young mother. Surely you are too young and beautiful. You must be Robert’s little sister.”

  “Oh.” Gloria’s cheeks became flushed. “Señor Black.”

  “Yes.” Camacho cleared his throat. “Señor Black was—”

  “Was just going to ask a beautiful woman to dance.” He bowed a little. “May I have the pleasure, Señora Camacho?”

  “Gloria.” She grinned so wide it almost cracked her oft surgically enhanced face. "And yes, of course. Sorry about the music,” she said above the sounds of the hard-working mariachi band. “My son was supposed to get Bando de Gigantico.” She threw an evil look over at Camacho.

  “This is great,” Black said, trying to keep the bile in his throat down. He hated everything about this music; in fact, he hated everything about this damned country. Smiling again, Black led Señora Camacho out onto the crowded dance floor. Ian Black, if he was anything, was a consummate actor; he’d faked everything in his life.

  “I love your suit, Señor Black,” Gloria said, running a hand down the length of it.

  “Ian. You can call me Ian,” he said, trying to hide his repulsion at the woman’s touch.

  “Is this Armani?”

  “Why yes. I had it custom made just for your birthday.”

  “Oh, Ian. Are you married?”

  “No.” He looked across the dance floor and saw Camacho glaring at him. “Unfortunately, I have never found the right woman. But you just never know, Gloria.” He tried not to pull back as Gloria Camacho drew him in closer.

  “Yes, indeed.” She rested her head on his chest.

 

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